ONE

Camaraderie is of immeasurable value. Elrond was a diplomat, and understood this. The day after the Council, he invited his many guests to a gathering in his courtyard, this one quite informal. It would not do to have so much tension remain between these ambassadors, and particularly the members of the Fellowship, who would be in each other's company for an indeterminate (but no doubt lengthy) amount of time.

And it was not so difficult as expected, for the Fellowship to develop a bond. Already there was much respect between them; even the ones who had not yet traveled together had heard tales of each other's adventures. The only tension that remained was between Aragorn and Boromir; their opinions and ideals were always contrary. Aragorn feared that Boromir's desire to use the Ring for Gondor would invite trouble, and Boromir made an effort to be condescending towards Aragorn, to conceal how threatened he felt by this heir of Isildur. But the rest of the Company found Boromir to be not just brave and righteous but gregarious as well. Particularly taken with Boromir were Merry and Pippin, who felt more comfortable around him than around the ranger. Aragorn was a formidable warrior and protector but was far too serious about everything. Prior to their arrival in Rivendell, Merry and Pippin's only experience with large groups of Big Folk had been in Bree, which had not left a good impression. But here, even though everyone was very tall, they were very polite about it, and treated the hobbits with respect.

Boromir, in fact, was enchanted by these small, childlike folk. He had traveled many miles in his years laboring in the defense of Gondor, but he had only heard tales of hobbits; he'd never actually seen one until the Council, and even then had assumed, observing Frodo, that hobbits were a quiet, grave people. His spirits were lifted when he met Merry and Pippin, who were better representatives of their race, and not so nervous about being around him as Frodo was. He watched with delight Merry and Pippin's general silliness at Elrond's gathering with delight, although he noticed that they did seem to be very serious about meals and ale, when those were made available.

Sam had popped up to tell his kinsmen that he had just discovered the most beautiful garden, west of the courtyard, and it was absolutely imperative that they look upon its beauty. The other hobbits were not so fascinated by gardens in general as Sam was, but there was nothing they'd seen so far in Rivendell that did not please them, so they followed him through the crowd. They ran right past Boromir, who leaned forward abruptly and grabbed Pippin, scooping him up and sitting him on his knee.

"I have a surprise for you," he said, and revealed, seemingly from thin air, a Marin fruit. They were ripe and flourishing in the trees throughout the valley, but the branches were so high, the hobbits could not reach them. Boromir had seen Merry and Pippin trying in vain to climb the smooth, limbless trunks to get to the fruits, and so before the festivities he plucked a few large, ripe fruits just for them. Pippin was elated; he took the fruit greedily from Boromir's hands and bit into it.

Boromir was amused, because Pippin had not taken the size of the fruit into account before biting. Marin fruits were quite large even for Elves and Men. They were typically halved or quartered. As Pippin tried to get his mouth around it, its juice dribbled down his chin and stained his lips. He took it away for a moment to size it up before planning another assault on its sweet, tender skin, and Boromir seized the opportunity to wipe a droplet of juice from Pippin's lower lip with a gloved hand. Pippin didn't seem to notice; he was determined to eat the fruit. Just then Merry showed up, wondering where and how his cousin had been sidetracked. That's when he saw the Marin.

"Hoy, where'd you get that?"

Pippin pointed to Boromir and tried to take another bite.

"Here, Master Hobbit," Boromir said, though he said Master in an ironic way, "let me help you." He pulled out a large knife, took the Marin from Pippin's hands, and cut it into three manageable pieces. He handed one each to Merry and Pippin, keeping the last piece to himself.

Aragorn saw all this, saw the way Boromir held Pippin on his lap and watched the hobbits as they devoured the fruit. It was a little disconcerting; Boromir was treating the hobbits like they were children, even though both of them were far too old to be indulged that way. Aragorn wondered what The Took would think of his successor being babied in such a manner, especially when he was nearly of age. Aragorn had long ago learned to treat the Shire-folk according to their years and wisdom, not their stature.

Still, it was hard to blame Boromir. Perhaps he had a paternal instinct that must remain unfulfilled while he fought in the defense of Gondor. Certainly for someone who had never seen a halfling before, it must seem rather like there were indeed children running about Rivendell, and who could resist that instinct, considering the dearth of lightheartedness in this land, of late? Seeing the hobbits as childlike was curative; it probably benefited the Big Folk far more than the hobbits themselves.

Nevertheless, that evening Aragorn found Boromir in the Hall and took him aside. "I do not appreciate the way you treat the hobbits," he said. "I have been trying to carve them into redoubtable warriors. It does not help when others coddle them like pets."

"Have a care, Aragorn. These are troubled times and we should take advantage of innocence and merriment where we can find it."

Aragorn was disgusted. "Did you just say 'take advantage of innocence?'"

"I don't know what kind of transgression you're accusing me of, but there is no need for your meddling. Under my watch the hobbits will become warriors. Tomorrow I will begin training them, and they will soon be skilled with weapons."

But apparently when Boromir said "the hobbits" he meant only Merry and Pippin. He didn't pay much attention to Frodo and Sam, and they didn't take a particular interest in him, either, except that Sam seemed more protective of Frodo whenever Boromir was close-by. Being the more wary of the hobbits, Frodo and Sam preferred the company of Strider, who had worked hard to earn their trust.

Boromir did his best to train Merry and Pippin in sword fighting and self-defense, but when they sparred their influence on him was more apparent than the other way around. Stopping for a rest in a glade at the foot of the Misty Mountains, Boromir taught Pippin a lesson in basic parrying, giving him a short sequence of attacks to deflect. The better Pippin got, the faster Boromir attacked, until during one sequence he went too fast and nicked Pippin's hand. It was hardly a scratch, but Pippin was furious. He dropped his sword, reverting to a less elegant style of combat, and kicked Boromir in the shin. Boromir was caught off guard, and Merry and Pippin pounced. This had happened before and Aragorn, sitting by, knew what was about to ensue. It happened every time; Boromir let the hobbits knock him to the ground and tickle him. He would retaliate a bit, but for him it was more about letting them have their fun.

Frodo watched too, and was glad to see that his cousins could find mirth on this journey. But he also harbored an odd jealousy; he himself was very ticklish, but he could not stand to be tickled, no matter how good-natured the assault. When they were all very young, Merry and Pippin would try tickling him, and he would scream and kick violently, enjoying it not in the least. They soon stopped trying it on him, for fear he would unintentionally hurt them in trying to make them stop. It was a trivial thing, really, and Frodo had never given it much thought, but to see how Boromir enjoyed their tickle-fights - Boromir, who had so much more dignity at stake, letting them have at him - made him feel like that much more of an outcast.

But the play-fighting never lasted long; Aragorn was quick to put a stop to the silliness, as it was noisy, and unbecoming of gentlemen. Aragorn always called the hobbits "gentlemen," hoping that if he did so enough they would start to act like gentlemen. But, however brave and wise they could be, hobbits were not grave. Frodo seemed to be the only one that Aragorn could connect with, and only because Frodo was so different.

Aragorn called for an end to their horseplay and returned his attention to sharpening his sword. Boromir got up and brushed himself off, a laugh still lingering within him. He called Merry and Pippin over to sit next to him on a large, flat rock. When they were settled at his sides, he took his gloves off and reached into his gear. "I have a surprise for you," he said, and pulled a bundle from his pack. Unwrapping it, he revealed some dried fruits. Marin. He'd had it stashed away all this time and never told them!

Merry reached out for a piece, but Boromir stayed his hand. "Ah-ah," he said, and picked up a piece himself. "Open up." Merry opened his mouth and Boromir popped the morsel between his lips. Merry closed his mouth just before Boromir's fingers retreated, and they caressed the soft, pink lips. Boromir smiled and chucked Merry under the chin. He was about to do the same for Pippin when Aragorn spoke up.

"Boromir!" He ran the flint down his blade to punctuate the address. "May I have a word with you?"

Boromir grumbled as he stood and left the rest of the bundle for the hobbits to finish. Aragorn led him into the tall brush so they could speak in some semblance of privacy.

"Perhaps my intention was not clear when I spoke to you in Imladris," Aragorn said. "When I asked you not to treat the hobbits like they were your children, I did not mean to say that you should treat them like they were your mistresses!"

"I am appalled that you would accuse me of such a thing!" Boromir huffed. "You seem utterly and may I add unreasonably convinced that I desire the hobbits for venery!"

"Your behavior does give the distinct impression that you are taking advantage of innocence."

"I don't know how you rangers pass the long nights in the battlefield," Boromir said. "In the field my men may engage in such practices if they have long been far from home, but I have never sought soldier's comfort. It is an insulting and undignified practice."

"You do not think that what you are doing is insulting or undignified?"

"I haven't heard anyone else complaining about my friendship with the little ones."

Aragorn put a hand up, indicating to Boromir that he should lower his voice. "Just because you don't hear anything, doesn't mean that nothing is said. The others are concerned but do not speak up, for fear of causing unrest in the Company."

"Well, it is good to know that you have no such qualms about causing unrest!"

"Boromir, I am not just some grudging meddler!"

"You are also not the leader of this Company! Let Gandalf speak up. He is wise. If what I am doing is wrong, let Gandalf speak up about it."

But Gandalf wouldn't. "I can't say that I like what Boromir is doing," he confided to Aragorn, "but it is not a danger to anyone. The hobbits are of age, and that means they are free to refuse to be treated that way by Boromir if they don't like it. I am actually relieved, for I feared that Boromir would cast his eyes to Frodo in the interest of divesting him of his charge. If Meriadoc and Peregrin are happy, and if it keeps Boromir happy, then there is no reason to intervene."

 

TWO

Boromir did not know what he was searching for when he went wandering in Lothlorien. Hope, perhaps. The lady Galadriel assured him that it was still with them, but he was frustrated that she could see it and he could not. He was accustomed to being indefatigable, even feared, when it came to getting what he wanted. As a Son or Gondor, he could attain anything he desired, whether by whim or by force, as the situation required. Never before had he been confronted with so much that was beyond his reach.

Galadriel sometimes watched him as he wandered, but never made her presence known to him. There was naught she could do to make him see the hope that she saw; so rutted was he in his purpose and his desire. I can delve into hearts, but I cannot change them. Let him see what he will, was her decree.

And what he saw changed his heart more swiftly and decisively than anything Galadriel could have endeavored. He had strayed down a little-used and overgrown path; a rare find in a land that was untainted by the creeping fingers of time. But being accustomed to these things in his journeys, Boromir hardly noticed its narrow, winding course. Narrow winding courses were often the way to auspices and glimmers of hope.

Unfortunately for Boromir, what he caught sight of was not so much a "glimmer of hope" as "two dimly-lit figures rolling about unclothed amongst the shrubberies."

Shock rolled over him in waves, like echoes of thunder: Here are two Elves rutting madly! No, they are not Elves, I recognize them! They are fellow travelers of mine, a Man and a hobbit! Why, it is Aragorn and Frodo!

They were both completely undressed, and Aragorn was on top of Frodo, holding the hobbit's wrists over his head. Just as Boromir encountered them, Frodo was squealing, "No, don't! Please, you mustn't!"

"I do not believe this!" Boromir cried, not caring that he was interrupting a terribly private situation. "After all that you preached to me about propriety!"

Aragorn and Frodo separated the instant they heard that voice. They sat up and stared at the incredulous Boromir. Frodo made a grab for his cloak and tried to cover his nakedness as best he could, and his face as well, which seemed on fire with embarrassment. Aragorn was unashamed of his state of undress and spoke to Boromir calmly even as his noticeable erection was withering.

"Boromir. Leave us alone so that we may dress and return to the pavilion. I will find you there and we will have a discussion."

"At this moment, I can see many things I never expected to see, but one of them is not a reason to discuss this with you."

"Then we will duel with swords if that is more to your liking!" Aragorn spat. "But I ask that you leave immediately and spare Frodo further humiliation."

Frodo blushed even more deeply, wishing that he could disappear. Not just become invisible (that was losing its novelty), but to vanish completely from the face of the Earth and never be seen or spoken of again. When Boromir left, Aragorn put his face in his hands. "How am I ever going to explain myself," he said aloud, but rhetorically. "Even if I could explain, it would only make it worse, for him to know the truth. He would never forgive me."

Frodo did not understand. "What is there to forgive?"

THREE

Frodo crossed paths with Aragorn while he was exploring Lothlorien. It always made his heart leap, whenever he chanced upon Aragorn, meandering aimlessly through the woods. He did not experience that same tiny thrill when he encountered others in the Company in that manner; although he did have a reminiscent feeling, more of a fright really, whenever he happened to be alone with Boromir, for the Lady of the Wood had warned Frodo of what she had seen in Boromir's heart.

What he felt in Aragorn's presence was not fright at all. In fact, there was something that Frodo had been thinking about, that he wanted to tell Aragorn. "Will you walk with me a while?" he asked, and the ranger agreed to. They wandered far, but did not fear getting lost.

"I suppose," Frodo said, "that you have been protecting me much longer than just the duration of our traveling together."

Aragorn nodded. "It is true, the Dunedain have toiled long, protecting the Shire. But those who have known the Shire-folk do not begrudge the task, though it is thankless."

"That is what I have been thinking about. All those years I lived a quiet life, a life of privilege, not realizing what a dangerous place the World is. You have sacrificed the opportunity to live a life of even greater luxury, in the interest of protecting fools like myself, who have no appreciation for it."

Frodo wished to sit, but there was no place along the path to do so. He took Aragorn's hand and led him through the grass to a clearing close by, and as he sank down to the forest floor he tugged at Aragorn's arm, guiding him to do the same. They sat and looked at one another for a long while, and then Frodo, with a tightened throat, whispered, "I'd never been so frightened as I was in Moria. That was when I realized. You who have led me into much danger these past months, spent the better part of your life keeping me far away from it. And I've never thanked you."

He crawled into the Man's arms, choked up but resisting the urge to weep. Aragorn was not accustomed to being thanked in such a physical manner, but he put his arms around Frodo and found that it was not unpleasant at all, to hold this small creature, to protect him not with a clanging sword but with strong arms, when the threat was not a hulking twisted creature but the invisible promise of Evil that every member of the Company had brought with them, in their hearts.

Frodo lightly pawed at the silk of Aragorn's Elven shirt, comforted by the warmth beneath that smooth fabric. He smiled and felt safe. His hand came to rest over Aragorn's ribcage, and suddenly he got an idea. In one swift motion his hand disappeared beneath the shirt and he gave Aragorn a merciless tickle. Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin, and he let out a high laugh, more shrill than was becoming a Man such as him. He tried to push Frodo's hand away, but it eluded him, traveling up his chest and under his arm. Aragorn fell back onto the mossy loam, surrendering to Frodo's nimble fingers. "Stop, stop," he said breathlessly, uselessly. Feeling triumphant for the first time in ages, Frodo put his other hand under the shirt and pushed the silky fabric up to make his work easier. But he paused when he revealed the Man's broad chest and taut belly, both heaving with spasms of laughter. Aragorn was grateful for this pause; he tilted his head back and caught his breath, not realizing that Frodo was gawking at him. Frodo placed his hands flat on Aragorn's belly and felt the heat like a furnace within him. He breathed an involuntary "Oh," and Aragorn looked up. Frodo slid his hands down to Aragorn's sides, and he was aware that he was straddling this Man, and that the part of him that was pressed against the Man's thigh was filling with blood. "Oh," he whispered again.

"Frodo," Aragorn said calmly, and tried to sit up, "perhaps we should..."

But Frodo reached up to grasp Aragorn's shoulders and used all his weight to push him back down. He couldn't think of a better way to get Aragorn to shut up, so Frodo just kissed him.

Aragorn had no idea what had gotten into Frodo, but for some reason he couldn't compel himself to push the hobbit away. Which was silly, after all, he was so much bigger and stronger than Frodo, it would be no effort at all to ward him off. Except, it didn't make sense at the moment to do so. It felt kind of good. Very good. Frodo's tongue was in his mouth and Aragorn could feel that there was a fiery spirit behind all that melancholy and fear. Frodo wasn't just pushing with his mouth and his hips; he was pushing with his soul.

But when he broke the kiss he seemed calm again, and blinked. "I don't know why I did that," he said, and looked away. The evidence of his arousal was pushing against Aragorn's belly, and he was rocking his hips, almost imperceptibly.

"Was it something inside you that told you to do it, or did it feel like it came from...somewhere else?"

"What do you mean? Oh. Hmm." Frodo realized that for the duration of the kiss he had forgotten about the Ring, which he hadn't been able to do much at all lately, even when he slept. "No, it couldn't have been that. It must have been something in my own mind, my own heart."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because when I do what it tells me to, I feel awful. But now that I've done what I've done, I feel good inside. Do you...feel that way?"

"Frodo, I must ask if you are making a serious endeavor here with me. Because I am after all a Man, and weak, and I may not be able to keep myself from trying to finish what you have begun. I hope you understand the significance of your conduct."

"Strider," Frodo laughed, "do you mean to ask if we, in this magical wood, are going to conjure up a beast with two backs?"

"After a fashion, yes."

Frodo answered this question by pulling at the fastenings of Aragorn's shirt. Aragorn tried to return the favor, but their arms were tangled up, and his fingers fumbled with the eyelets. Frodo ended up doing most of the work, feeling a bit of remorse that the Elves had given them such beautiful silks to wear and now they were just tossing them on the forest floor. When they were undressed, they lay with their arms and legs entwined. Aragorn squeezed Frodo's shoulder and stroked down his arm, tasting with his fingers the smooth, flawless flesh. "It saddens me that for so long this beauty has gone before my eyes unappreciated."

"You drive me to madness with your serious speech," Frodo said, and he gave Aragorn another poke in the ribs to get him to laugh again.

"Why you little....Ah, devilry!" Aragorn let Frodo think he'd toppled his foe again, but then made a grab for him and rolled him over onto his back. "Ha! Now I have you trapped, and what are you going to do?" He grinned and took both Frodo's wrists in one hand, holding them over his head, and held the other hand poised over Frodo's ribs, ready to retaliate. Frodo was suddenly frightened; not of the whole of Aragorn's prodigious strength, only of the bare tips of his fingers.

"Oh, no," he cried, already beginning to laugh against his will, in anticipation. "Please, you musn't!"

There was no way that Aragorn could explain all that to Boromir.

FOUR

Since leaving Lothlorien Frodo now feared the other members of the Company as much as he feared Orcs and Wargs. He anticipated not just attempts on his life but attempts on his honor; Boromir grew more irrational by the day, and couldn't be trusted not to force himself on Frodo, motivated not by lust but by vengefulness.

Boromir's sudden presence terrified Frodo. He had asked to be alone while he made his decision, whether to go to Minas Tirith or head for Mordor. But as was becoming more typical, Boromir was heedless of others' requests. Frodo felt sorry for this Man, even as he was frightened of him. He wished he'd known Boromir before all this business with the Ring. From the tales he'd heard, Boromir had apparently been renowned all through the realms of Gondor and Arnor for his bravery and skill. Frodo could look into Boromir's eyes and see, behind the ache for the Ring, a memory of glory and honor, growing ever more dim, though it was not so very long ago that he could grasp those things as easily as he could the hilt of his sword.

Frodo knew that Boromir was going to take this opportunity to try wheedling him into leading the Company to Minas Tirith. In his heart Frodo did not believe this was the best thing to do, but what made him certain was Aragorn's anxiety about that option. Aragorn was wise, and knew the hearts of Men.

"The Ring will not be safe in Gondor," Frodo said to Boromir. "And if the Ring is not safe, then no one is safe."

"And do you think It is safe here? Do you think you are safe where you stand? I know you think of me as no more than a conniving thief, but you would do well to turn those suspicious eyes upon your beloved ranger as well. Do you really think he wants you for you? When he has the fairest of Elf-maidens waiting for him in Rivendell? You are naught to him; he treasures you the way one treasures a box that holds expensive jewelry."

Frodo sensed a grain of truth in the midst of Boromir's nefarious lies, but refused to show that his resolve was dithering. "I do not believe that he desires the Ring. He could have taken it by force the first time we crossed paths, if he wanted it."

"I did not say that Aragorn was a fool. He knows that you would sooner murder him than let him take it from your unwilling hands. He is playing on your weaknesses: Fear. Loneliness. Desire."

Boromir took a step towards Frodo, and Frodo took a step back. But Boromir's strides trounced Frodo's, and in a moment he was nearly upon the hobbit, reaching to grasp his shoulders and still him so he could say his piece.

"Frodo, I do not need to make such underhanded appeals. I am asking for the Ring not for myself but for the good of my people, of all people. How could you doubt my sincerity when my request is so forthright?"

Frodo tried to run, and Boromir dived for his ankles and brought him down. "I will not let you deliver the Ring into the hands of Evil!" Frodo struggled, but Boromir held him like a vise. His only advantage would be surprise. So he put the Ring on his finger, and Boromir loosed his grip in his bewilderment. Frodo wrested himself from the Man's grasp and took off at full speed, but stopped when Boromir was out of sight, to re-orient himself and determine where the boats were. He had made his decision, and did not hesitate now, though it may well be that he would die alone and be forgotten. He thought about how he would never see the Shire again, and was grieved. Then he thought about how he might never see Aragorn again, and for a moment, just a moment, he was glad.